


Mario Pissing

by michigansteve12



Category: Mario & Luigi RPG (Video Games), Super Mario & Related Fandoms, Super Mario 64, Super Mario Bros. (1993), Super Mario Bros. (Video Games)
Genre: Erotica, Feminism, Hegelianism, Multi, Other, Philosophy, Piss, Satire, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 14:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18693547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michigansteve12/pseuds/michigansteve12
Summary: time to take a piss





	Mario Pissing

MARIO PISSING

Original Video by: Blaze the Movie Fan

Written by: michigansteve12

 

A familiar sort of dance, spiraling down, amongst the endless blue limbo.  
Golden glimmers, a long, twirling form. A wonder much alike the onset of rain.

Mario is pissing.

The portly plumber, garbed in red, grunted loudly as he coerced forth his sickly dew, which shot beyond the stern black censor box. The box which hid his greasy linguini from the sensitive eye.  
Each moment in holy urination ejaculated forth the hard life that Mario had led, the flecks of blood amongst the stream, the agonized expression he tried so hard to restrain, the gang signs carved unto his skin, the torrential sweat above his brow. 

The greasy Italian, hero of the mushroom kingdom stood at about 6 feet tall, with a considerable girth to boot. His tight overalls lay unfastened around his ankles, the same salopettes he had worn for as long as he could remember. Mario’s gaze softly followed the stream. He watched as each blood-stained drop faded into the eternal scape below. His urine would never have the luxury of landing, like Mario had after every sprightly jump. Mario had travelled this mad, mad universe a thousand times over.

The plumber knew; as long as he was wise and did not wander into an oncoming flame, he would be safe. The plumber knew that as long as he kept his feet away from those pesky piranha plants, he would stay whole. The plumber knew that as long as he deftly dodged the wild hammers of the hammer bros, he would be forever well, as long as he thought on his feet and knew to dodge the oncoming threat of an errant Koopa shell, he would never fall.

And Mario continued to piss. 

Yet, the yellow stream, upon its inception, bore no destination but the forlorn emptiness below, doomed from birth to that abyss. The tired plumber smirked coldly. Even the blood which soaked his boots felt the warm embrace of dirt. Even the filth which littered the castle grounds found sanctuary amongst the cobble, found comfort in their blue cotton vests and wore proudly their fine mushroom hats.

And Mario continued to piss.

To piss and piss.

Into the endless Abyss.

Between grunts and the occasional hacking coughs, Mario’s moustache twitched in thought to the value of urine.

For it is known that even piss is valuable to the cycle of life. From these excretions’ so much can grow. For a moment, Mario thought that maybe this little part of himself could be handed back to the world to try and save just a little piece of it. But these vacant dreams rotted away swiftly amongst the scorched castle grounds, the endless networks of steel pipes and concrete slabs which were now all that remained of home.

And Mario continued to piss. Wondering if a better world stood before him, obscured by that omniscient blue limbo. He smiled weakly, hoping, truly hoping, that this piss of his would land so gently, watering a field of beautiful flowers, that he simply could not see. Perhaps Luigi was standing in that field, smiling warmly at his brother up above. with the the occasional fleck of urine drenching his face. Luigi didn’t deserve what happened to him that day, nobody did. But Mario had long given up on trying to change the past, but he knows that this past changed him, and his soul will forever bear those scars.

There’s nothing left, nothing but the wailing winds, nothing but the echoes, the empty shell of a once decent world. 

The plumber dreamed of letting go, finally letting himself fall after all these years, to free himself of this unbearable burden. To fall and fall, through the nothingness, and to land softly into a bed of flowers, under the shelter of the forest canopies. Mario strained himself to remember the voices of the people he fought so hard to protect. He remembered Peach, her voice as sweet as, well, peaches. And even his little brother Luigi with his little bitch voice too. He remembered Yoshi’s disgusting, warbling yells. It’s a strange sort of feeling, nostalgia. It warms cold hearts, brings motion to men who have long frozen still, It can make even the rainiest of days feel so dry and so warm.

But as the memories faded, all that remained in Mario's mind was an endless white noise, and all that combed the air around were the sounds of stirring winds, creaking pipes, and the occasional tinkle of a stray drop.  
But a new sound joined this desolate choir, one which Mario’s waning dreams had failed to imagine.

“What the hell are you doing?” 

A sound which Mario had not heard in a long time, but similar to the sort he had indeed heard before. The supple, sultry tone of a servant of Lord Bowser. It was a Goomba.  
Mario smirked, his posture relaxing, though he would not deign to face towards his new acquaintance.

“I’m taking a piss.” The plumber replied, ever so venomously.

And thus, Mario continued to piss.

For if the Goomba was wise, he would let the conversation end on this mundane note, and allow himself to live another day.  
But this Goomba was not the pragmatic sort.

“Okay… But, why aren’t you jumping on me?” the young Goomba inquired.

But Mario did not respond.

Mario simply continued to piss.

A boiling rage spilled over in the little Goomba, finally drained of patience towards the plumber's callous discourse.

“That’s what you’re supposed to do!” he yelled, the force of which echoed and echoed around the endless void.

Mario thought long and hard about those words as they reverberated through his soul. It had been a long time since he’d seen a creature so naïve, so blissfully unaware of the true nature of this world. That’s what I’m supposed to do? Mario could only dream of being so innocent, so foolish. Mario tried to imagine the face of the Goomba behind him. But he knew that the only memories he would recall would be the bloody pulps, the entrails underneath his soles. That was the legacy Mario had made, that was the path he chose, the path that took him right here, pissing on this ledge.

“I might do it fucking later.” Mario scoffed. The plumber gyrated his hips slightly, ushering forth another tidal wave of piss.

“No! I’m a motherfucking enemy! You’re supposed to jump at me!”

The urine stream slowly began to thin.  
Mario looked around, as if his soul reached for something his mortal eyes could not see. Thousands of distant recollections of his past lives rushed around him, and he felt faint, as if he were passing to heaven.

Reality rushed back to Mario, what’s going on? Where am I? What did that little thing say? Right, the jumping. The jumping…

“Okie dokie then, let me pull up my pants second first, and then maybe I’ll jump on you.” Mario stammered quietly, still shaken by his wandering thoughts.

But the goomba was neither quiet nor shaken, and he bellowed “Maybe? MAYBE?! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND? NO! JUMP ON ME NOW MOTHERFUCKER.”

The words were sharp. Loud. A declaration of vocation. A declaration of fate. It was not mindless, this is the natural order of the mushroom kingdom. The plumber jumps, the goomba waddles back and forth, the plumber kills, the plumber destroys, and thus stewards forth the creation of a better world.

perhaps this was not the end, maybe these flames would flicker and would one day subside. And, perhaps, from the ash would rise life anew.

Mario closed his eyes, this time tightly.

A familiar hand gently shook his shoulder, his eyes opened wide, and he saw around him a train platform, but this one was beautiful, unlike any he had seen before. Crowds passed by, chatting happily, exchanging their stories of life and love. Mario looked beyond to see wonderful flora, trees, flowers, mushrooms, gently existing alongside civilization, green, lush and bountiful.

And Mario looked up, and saw what stood above him, a mural. A mural dedicated to Mario, the hero of the Mushroom Kingdom. All of his adventures, the stories he remembered, the friends and rivals. Tears began to well up in his eyes.  
The hand beside him offered a napkin, which he accepted, rubbing the cloth against his eyes to halt the flow of tears. And as he pulled the napkin from his face, he saw Luigi, sitting beside him.

Was this a memory?

An echo quietly reverberated down the track before them. 

“Looks like it’s almost time to say goodbye, Mario.” Luigi spoke softly, picking his overstuffed briefcase from the station floor.

Mario looked deep into his mind, and he did mine, for this memory.

But Mario indeed could not find such a memory in his mind.  
“Looks like you’re the man of the house now.” Luigi chuckled, awkwardly as ever.

Luigi’s smile faded, and he looked around solemnly. He gazed kindly towards Mario. “No matter where I am, no matter where you are, we’ll always be the Mario Brothers, Ok?”  
Mario smiled weakly. “You got that right, Luigi. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

The echoes gave way to the proud roars of the train’s mechanics, gliding gently to it’s stop beside the brothers. The train was ornate, with several carriages trailing behind. Mario tried to look at the passengers, but through the foggy windows all he could see were vague silhouettes.

Mario looked as his brother stepped forward towards the train, and he began to tear up once again.

“I tried to be a hero, Luigi, I did it all for the greater good.”

Luigi stopped, his back still facing towards Mario, “We all did.”  
Mario’s brother turned around, his face bearing a bittersweet smile, and the tears from his eyes.

“In the name of the mushroom kingdom, in the name of our friends and family, in the name of love itself. We did so many unspeakable things, things which could not be further removed from the values we hold dear.” Luigi looked upwards slightly, his eyes perusing the huge mural.

“Don’t make that mistake again, Mario, you still have that choice…”  
Luigi paused, trying to think of what to say.

“There’s fire, Mario. There’s always fire.”

Mario wiped the tears from his face, speaking once more “Why can’t I be here, with you, my own brother! Why can’t I be in a world like this? In Your world!”  
Luigi stopped again, one foot firmly the train steps, the other near his brother, who bawled before him.  
“This isn’t my world Mario, this is yours.”

“Not the world as it was, but as it could one day be.”

“Be the hero you always wanted to be, I believe in you…”

Mario tried to speak “Luigi…”

Luigi looked at the wretched plumber on the floor, the train doors around him began to close.

“…And I’ll always believe in you, Mario.”

The train began to move.  
“Maybe we’ll meet again, bro… In a better life” Luigi spoke quietly, as a single tear ejected from his eye. Lie piss of the soul.

Luigi stepped inside, the train began to pick up speed. Mario waved gently as the train faded into the distance, through the rolling hills, the blue skies, the gentle clouds.

The rustling leaves, the gentle wind, Mario closed his eyes. His Crotch felt so, so dry, for the first time in years.

And Mario came back to consciousness, on that brick ledge, the goomba standing behind him still. The goomba’s face was red, like he had only yelled a moment ago. Mario couldn’t help but wonder how so many thoughts could accost him in a blink of an eye.  
Mario gazed one last time at his greasy linguini, ready to hide it from the light once more.  
And Mario was certain, that after all this time, all this suffering, he had yet to stray from the path of destiny, that he would follow the flame and destroy all that remained, both good or bad, as in the end, it would all be worth it.

Mario spoke softly to the goomba “Let me get my pants first.”  
And in response, silence.  
Mario did not look to see where the goomba had gone, as he knew the goomba would still be there.  
Mario is the hero, a vessel of wrath, brought down from above to cleanse the world.  
His thoughts were clear, the air was thin, and his pants were dry, and as sure as Mario thought, the goomba remained, and with a reply.

“Ugh, fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :D  
> also if you have nay actual feedback pls do comment, i know its got a lot of issues


End file.
